Orcblood Legacy: Skirmishes: Orcs by Bernard Bertram (good inspirational books .TXT) 📕

disputed his lack of energy as he forced himself to remain upright. The mask that he had donned to hide his vulnerability had to work on even himself, he knew. Grinding his jaws together more tightly, Fangdarr pushed away the depressing thoughts that sought to cripple him. Then, for no reason he could discern, he began to run.

As his powerful legs trampled through the wood, the orc allowed the pain in his calves to blind him to the clawed grip of sorrow. All he could feel was that burning sensation in his muscles as they carried him swiftly forward. For as long as he ran, he would not feel the agonizing mental plague that he knew waited for him.

It seemed as if half the day was spent pushing himself past his limit. Fangdarr knew that if he stopped he would collapse. Still, as his legs screamed in searing pain, he pounded on with no destination in mind. He growled aloud, scaring the nearby forest critters back into their holes, bringing a dreadful silence to the forest. There were no songs by the birds, no chittering of critters. Even the wind seemed to have ceased at his presence. Only the sound of his lumbering footfalls and growls of agony resonated from within the lush woods.

As Fangdarr rushed onward, his foot caught an exposed root, launching him forward in a stumble. He slid along the dirt, scraping away the skin on his face, arms, and torso. The orc’s eyes clamped shut in pain as the air in his lungs was dispelled. Gasping to recover, his eyes opened and turned to horror as he realized what had happened. Desperately, Fangdarr tried to scramble back to his feet but his legs refused to function. He started to panic, knowing too well that he needed to run to keep his thoughts at bay. But every time he tried to stand, he crashed to the ground.

Grabbing his head with both hands, Fangdarr slammed his eyes shut and began muttering to himself in terror. Need to run. Can’t think. Run. Run. Run. His fingers dug into his skull as he tried to think of a way to escape the sorrow that he could feel creeping up his spine. Thoughts of his abandonment started to sink in, no longer driven away by physical pain.

Fangdarr grew desperate as that sinking feeling grew more evident. Pulling Driktarr from his back, the orc held out the axe in front of him. I need to. It needs to stop. I need to . . ..

His gaze fell upon the sharpened edge and traced its curve. He reinforced his grip on the weapon and turned the blade toward himself. The twisting and poisonous feeling in his mind was beginning to set in, reminding him that time was short before the dread once more claimed him. He looked at the sharpened steel and knew he didn’t want to spiral down into agonizing depression any longer.

“I need to,” Fangdarr muttered as he drove his cherished greataxe toward his own chest.

LEAF

Fangdarr howled as blinding pain shot through him. For briefest of moments, he felt the instant relief as the agony purged his negative thoughts. But the respite ended as quick as it came, replaced by an intense and indescribable sensation.

The orc had suffered wounds before; his flesh had been cut, it had been torn and burned. But nothing like this. As Driktarr bored into him, the pain was relived a hundred times over as the enchanted weapon absorbed his life force. His wound continuously tried to close around the axe as it filled him with life, only to be torn again over and over. The repetitive cycle set his body into spasms and his vision became clouded with flashes of white.

Slowly, Fangdarr grit his teeth and forced his hand to obey, reaching up to rip his axe from his chest, ending the cycle. His lips quivered as the lasting agony subsided and the wound stitched itself closed for good. Vision still blurry and struggling to regain his breath, the orc traced his fingers over the new scar. He realized it had been the first time he had ever cut himself with his beloved weapon.

As the distraction of the unexpected outcome faded, he felt the profound sadness start to creep back in. Fangdarr groaned in helpless frustration. Is there no respite?! He looked around from where he tripped and gasped aloud as his eyes fell upon a familiar sight in the distance: Gub’s cave.

With a huff, the orc tried to rise to his feet and turn away from the dwelling. His legs had other plans, however, and Fangdarr crashed to the ground. Lips curled in anger, he cursed his body’s weakness and began crawling in the opposite direction of the cave while muttering to himself.

After pulling himself a dozen paces, Fangdarr could feel his arms grow weary. Exhaustion pulled him to the earth where he lay face-down and panting. Then, once again, the sorrow he had desperately tried to avoid seemed to swell. I wonder if I will die here. Would it make any difference?

A sigh passed through his lips, blowing the hot air against the ground and sending it rolling up his neck. All hope seemed lost. If he didn’t move, something would find him soon enough. Part of him wanted to tempt that fate, just to see another creature one last time before his demise. Fangdarr rolled painfully to his back and looked up at the screen of green above. He focused on the tinge of brown that had started to wither the edge of the leaves as the seasons began to change.

As if on cue, a leaf that had more brown than green broke from its branch and floated easily down to the orc. He watched as it swayed each way with the gentle push of the air. But no matter which way the breeze tried to coerce the falling leaf, it always continued its descent. Fangdarr smiled at the irony that a single leaf could trudge through its